Hold On (Delos Series Book 5) (17 page)

She watched as Beau shrugged out of his pack and laid it on the wet forest floor, then quickly opened it up.

Her eyes widened. There were several bullet holes through one side of it and she heard Beau curse beneath his breath as he tore open the ruck, his hands immediately going to the shredded area.

“What?” she asked hoarsely. “What’s wrong?” She saw the disappointment for a second in Beau’s expression and then, just as quickly, his game face was back in place.

He picked up his sat phone, and she could see it had been shattered by a bullet. “Damn! I can’t call Bagram,” he muttered. Dropping the destroyed phone into the torn pocket, his mouth thinned.

“W-what does that mean, Beau?” He looked grim, and it scared the hell out of Callie.

He turned to her, his voice low. “It means we can’t make contact with our HQ at Bagram. We’re on our own.” He touched the radio headset he wore. “This radio I’m wearing only has a mile radius on it, Callie. That means we have to get within a mile of Bagram in order to put in a call for help.”

The way his mouth flattened, the way he looked at her, the concern burning in his eyes, she felt more afraid than she had in her entire life.

“Doesn’t Matt carry a sat phone on him, too, Beau?”

“Yes, he does, but that doesn’t guarantee us anything.” He reached over, rubbing her arm with his gloved hand. “They’re going into the mountains to escape the Taliban, Callie, and in the mountains it’s twenty times harder to get a signal out for help. Matt was depending on me to make that call.” He tightened his jaw, clearly distressed. He didn’t like to let anyone who depended on him down, and now four lives were at stake. “I can’t do a damned thing about it.”

“B-but,” she stammered, keeping her voice low, “couldn’t Matt make a call at some point?”

Shrugging, he muttered, “I don’t know. Nothing is for sure right now, Callie,” and he looked deep into her frightened eyes. His hand grew more firm around her upper arm. “Listen to me. We’re going to have to make our way back to Bagram without any help at all. That’s a thirty-five-mile hike one way in forest, hills, and finally, some flat desert.”

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “But what about the Taliban?”

His eyes narrowed as he slowly scanned the area, listening for any unusual sounds. His gaze came back to hers. “They’re going to be chasing us, that I know. Unfortunately, we don’t know how many are in the group.” He shook his head. “I don’t even know if we were able to divide up their group by splitting up and going opposite directions. I’m hoping we have.” He patted her shoulder. “You’re going to have to be brave, Callie. We’re in for a brutal run for Bagram, and I’m not going to sugarcoat it for you. That doesn’t serve us at all.”

“Okay,” she said, her voice shaking. “Just tell me what I need to do, Beau.”

He smiled tightly, briefly grazing her bright red cheek. “Hang on to my belt. If I suddenly crouch and stop, you do the same. Try not to step on any branches that might snap and make noise. I’ve no doubt that the Taliban has trackers out and they’re following our muddy footprints.” He pointed to the mud beneath the brown, pine-needled floor. “It’s going to be easy for them to follow us, so I’m going to head for the river with its rocks and gravel along the banks. That should slow them down and, hopefully, throw them off the track.”

He turned, frowning, his gaze penetrating the gloom of the forest surrounding them. “Whatever you do, don’t speak, and try not to cry out. If you need something, jerk on my web belt. I’ll try to slow down enough so you can keep up, but this is going to be tough, so just do your best.” He gave her concerned look, and she knew he was worried about her.

Knowing how much he cared helped her tamp down her anxieties. “I’ll do it,” she promised, grim. “I’m so scared, Beau, for us and for Dara and Matt, too.”

His eyes flickered with emotion and then he tucked it away. Emotions could get a person killed. “Your sister is in the best of hands with Matt. He’ll take good care of her, Callie, so don’t worry about her. Just put all your energy, your heart and soul, into keeping up with me. We’ve got to make it to that river to throw them off our trail or they will capture us.”

He didn’t want to say anything other than that, because Beau did not want to have to tell her he’d give his life for her without a moment’s hesitation. If they were captured by the Taliban, he knew he’d die fighting for both of them.

Beau purposely didn’t go to the worst-case scenario. If they caught Callie, they’d rape her, videotape it, keep her a prisoner, and eventually, either behead her or sell her as a sex slave across the Af-Pak border. She had no idea how brutal the Taliban were and what they would do to her. Every cell in his body screamed, “Protect her!” He’d get her back to the safety of the Army base or die trying.

“Ready?” he asked her, quickly closing up his ruck, standing, and shrugging it back on his shoulders.

Nodding, Callie got to her feet, rubbing her gloves down the sides of her jeans. She was muddy and wished she had some water to clean off her gloves and the knees of her jeans. But that wasn’t going to happen. Looking up between the tall trees, she saw more and more gray and turbulent clouds drifting over the valley where they stood. “Couldn’t we go to the village for help, Beau?”

Shaking his head, he belted up, took the M4 from her, and clipped it on his chest harness. “No. The Taliban would expect that. And if that village gave us safety, the Taliban could attack and kill a lot of the women, children, and men to try and find us. We can’t risk it, gal.”

His lips brushed her temple, and she closed her eyes, feeling that powerful sense of protection that Beau always gave her. His kiss was unexpected but couldn’t have come at a better time—she realized how badly she needed his touch, his assurance.

“Okay,” she said, easing away. “I understand. I don’t want anyone else killed.” She felt tears behind her eyes and forced them away. “My God, did you see poor Mohammed? He was shot in the head.”

“Yeah,” Beau uttered. “he was a good man. He didn’t deserve what he got.”

“They’d do the same to us, wouldn’t they?”

He saw the stark terror in Callie’s eyes. “Not if I have anything to say about it. Matt and I and the rest of our team do this kind of thing all the time. We’re used to working among the enemy. We’re good at what we do, Callie. Just keep your faith.” He picked up her hand, settling it on his web belt near his left elbow. “Okay?”

Beau didn’t want her going to pieces and was depending on her rugged roots as a rancher’s daughter, raised in the wilds of Montana and accustomed to a harsh environment. Beau was betting that Callie’s backbone was made of titanium—and now it was going to be tested.

“Okay,” she said, her voice more steady. Her hope rose a little as he reached back with his gloved hand, squeezing her hand around his belt. Appreciating his thoughtfulness, Callie felt her throat closing with terror of the unknown. She pushed it back. Beau needed her courage, not her fear.

However, she worried about Dara. She trusted Matt’s abilities, but her older sister wasn’t in great physical shape. Nor was she the type to work out, like Callie was. She would be a huge liability to Matt now that they were making a run for it. Callie was glad that she’d put in her three or four days a week at the gym in Bagram.
If ever a workout would pay off, it’s now
, she told herself.

She not only did belly-dancing exercises, she also ran three miles most days on a treadmill. Would it be enough? She didn’t know, but she wasn’t about to put Beau and herself in jeopardy if she could help it.

Beau looked one last time behind them and then silently moved out at a strong pace. Callie watched what he was doing, so she could emulate his movements. He was careful not to step on any branches that might crack or snap, alerting their enemy to the direction of their whereabouts. Thirty-five miles! It seemed daunting to Callie as she tried to keep up with Beau’s long-legged stride. They had soon covered a good distance across the floor of the woods that surrounded them. Everything was silent, but that scared her, especially because there were no birds calling. All she could hear was the wind sifting and singing through the evergreens above them.

They could have died in that van if not for Matt and Beau’s quick thinking. Was Dara injured? She hadn’t appeared to be. She was white with terror, but Callie hadn’t seen any blood on her. But things had happened so swiftly as the two operators had grabbed them out of the van, heading in different directions, that she couldn’t really tell. Her heart was pounding, her mouth open as she tried not to make any noise as she breathed. Beau was in a crouch, his M4 ready, and she had no doubt that the Taliban was following them. And the mud on the ground was making them easy targets to follow.

Oh, God . . .
, she prayed.
Please help us!

T
hey reached the
river in two hours, and by the time they did, Callie was sobbing for breath. Beau had slowed down a number of times so she could rest briefly, and she felt guilty as hell. She was sure that she was slowing them down so much that the enemy would easily catch up with them.

Beau had done his best to find places that hid them—at least, better than if they were just strolling through the open forest. There were hills scattered throughout the region, and often he would find a rockier area for them to cross, rather than continuing along the forest’s floor. This left far fewer tracks for their hunters to follow.

Now, her lungs burning, she pressed her hand against her chest as Beau led them to the area where the woods thinned out. Ahead of them lay the dark green waters of the river. It wasn’t a wide river, maybe two hundred feet across, with blackish gravel on the shoreline.

Beau suddenly surprised Callie by taking her hand off his belt, bringing her beneath his arm, and holding her close. Callie groaned and sagged weakly against him, grateful for the sense of safety he provided.

“Hold on,” he murmured against her ear, kissing her temple. “I’ll get you out of this or die trying.”

His voice was low and husky, and Callie clung to him, now absolutely terrified. Never had death seemed so close. Would they survive? They could be killed, or even worse, taken prisoner and tortured.

Callie had heard too many gory stories, seen too much evidence on the Internet of what al-Qaeda and the Taliban could do before trotting out their tortured prisoners for the rest of the world to view.

She pressed her face against Beau’s shoulder, inhaling his scent. There was so much she wanted to say to him, but this wasn’t the time. Besides, he wanted their talk kept to a minimum.

Still, she was heartened by the tender way he cradled her against him, silently infusing her with the strength and confidence that would get them out of this situation.

Sliding her arm around his waist, holding him, she swallowed back her tears and her terror. Sure, she wanted out of this, but that wasn’t an option.

“How are you doing?” Beau asked, his voice low, lips against her mussed hair.

“Are you serious?” Callie heard herself saying, and managed a half grin.

“I know,” Beau admitted. “I feel the same way. But look—our team has been up and down this river often,” he told her. “It goes for about fifteen miles, winding in and out of a lot of hills before we have to strike out away from it. The rocks will hide our tracks and slow the Taliban down. You can’t find tracks in gravel unless they’re really obvious.”

He looked up as the first raindrops struck his face and turned, easing his arm from Callie and drawing her hood up and over her hair. “It’s going to rain, and probably snow later,” he told her. “Is that jacket of yours rainproof?”

“Yes.”

Nodding, he pulled up the hood on his cammo jacket, the bill of his baseball cap protecting his eyes from the rain, which was now gaining strength. “There’s a small cave about half a mile south of here. It’s never been used, as far as I know, by Taliban or by the goat herders, mostly because it’s pretty small. It’s not big enough for a band of goats to huddle inside it. Locals will know about it, but the Taliban usually isn’t local.”

“Are we going to hole up there?”

Beau checked his watch. It was now noon. “Rest a bit,” he said, turning, holding her gaze. He saw a red scratch mark on her jaw. “That hurt?” he asked, lightly touching it.

“No. Why?”

“You were hit by some brush there.”

“Oh.” Callie’s mouth twisted. “I don’t even feel it, Beau.”

“It’s the adrenaline,” he assured her. “When you’re scared, adrenaline dumps into your bloodstream. You can have a broken bone and never feel the pain from it—or a bullet hole through you.”

A cold chill worked down through her. “I don’t feel the scratch, so I guess the adrenaline is working.”

He watched the rain veil coming off the mountains somewhere behind them, stretching out across the narrow valley where this river twisted and turned. “This is gonna be a constant kind of rain for a while,” he murmured, holding her gaze. “That’s good news for us. The mud that’s on our boots will wash off as we skirt the edge of the forest and walk in the gravel. It will make it nearly impossible to track us.”

He didn’t want to tell Callie just how damned skilled the Taliban were at following their enemies. A good tracker could literally study the gravel and be able to tell where a person had put down the heel of his boot.

Beau didn’t want to make her any more anxious than she already was. Yes, he knew it would slow their enemy down, but it wouldn’t stop them from trying to locate them. Their only recourse was to stay on the move. Unfortunately, he could see fatigue tightening Callie’s flushed features.

“How are you holding up, gal?” He saw Callie’s green eyes grow soft for a moment as he grazed her cheek, wanting in some way to help ease her anxiety and fear.

“I’m getting tired. I don’t know how far we’ve gone, but I’m starting to stumble.” She looked dismayed, and he knew she felt guilty about holding them back.

“We’ve probably made about seven miles so far. But we’re heading west, not south. Bagram lies to the south. I had to take us here to the river, or we’d have been sitting ducks if we’d headed straight south from where the van was ambushed.”